Blind Date
by effydodge
Summary: This is a complete experiment. Hirene...Irarry? on a blind-date set up by John and Sherlock. I'll continue it if anyone at all joins me in this ship, but otherwise it's just an experiment. Also, if anyone knows more about Harry Watson than I do, please let me know and I apologize. I'm seeing her as a vaguely blank slate.


Irene gave the woman across from her a cursory look. Expensive blue-on-blue patterned jumper, no blush, no lipstick, neutral-toned shadow over deep blue eyes. Very short blond hair. She frowned and sat back, pulled off her gloves as she stared pointedly.

"I suppose it was too much to ask that you wouldn't inherit that particular recessive trait."

Across the candlelit table, Harry Watson smiled grimly. "And I'm an emotionally-stunted alcoholic to boot." She checked her watch. "With an exhaustive schedule, who hates your gaudy makeup and ridiculous shoes. Fucking amazingly perfect stereotype right here." She said it all with tired confidence and took a long swallow of water, all the while looking up at Irene with firm dislike. "But at least I manage not to fall in love with men."

Irene smiled and crossed her legs, sitting at an angle with the table. Her thighs were visible, pale and perfect under the hem of her short black dress. It was an effortless pose of amused disinterest.

When the waiter arrived, she ordered a bottle of wine for the table.

Harry's eyes widened. She glared at Irene, prompting the other woman to sigh and relent a bit in her cold pose.

"Oh, dearest, I'm not so terrible. I'm just not nearly enough of a gentleman to prefer blondes and I'm frankly insulted by this entire set-up."

Harry reluctantly agreed with that last bit. She glanced unhappily around the dimly lit room. All the other couples were leaning close over their tables, all were male-female.

"Yeah. Someone happens to know two lesbians, however obviously badly suited and voi-fucking-la it must be kismet. And if I sound bitter, it's only because I am."

Irene pouted, switching sides in the argument like a light. "Though there is something to be said for embracing the chaotic nature of the universe."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, try saying that at an AA meeting."

Irene laughed, looking at Harry somewhat differently now. She was short of course. John was short, of course his sister would be. And butch wasn't generally Irene's thing, though 'butch' as a descriptive was extremely fraught. There were a million more important considerations. For instance, the way that pixie haircut made her look like a slim Joan of Arc or how she was charmingly making jokes at her own expense.

Irene stroked a finger along her lower lip, drawing Harry's attention.

"You're staring at my lips," Irene commented lightly.

Harry didn't flinch. "Why oh why would my brother set me up with a dominatrix?"

Irene smiled happily, shifted and leaned forward. "Oh! You've heard of me then."

Harry gave a tired little shrug. "Clara followed you on twitter, talked about you annoyingly much."

"Your ex?"

She nodded.

Irene's eyes sparkled, looking Harry over. "God, look at that fluffy sweater. Those hunched shoulders. And despite your demeanor, those soft, puppy-dog eyes. Poor Clara, I think. She was clearly in the market for a more dominant lover."

"Shut your fucking mouth."

Irene tsked, shaking a finger at Harry. "Alas, dove… loud and riddled with expletives does not a dom make." The waiter approached with an expensive bottle of Cote du Rhone, poured Irene the first taste. She sipped, nodded at the waiter in approval. As the wine was poured, she watched Harry's eyes with a sadistic glint.

Harry covered her own glass with a hand.

Their eye contact broke as Irene began drinking her wine and Harry looked anywhere else, down at the table cloth. She hadn't ever been much for wine anyway. It was more beer and hard liquor, but of course in a pinch the difference was nonexistent.

"You're being very strong." Irene's voice sounded approving.

Harry laughed, still not raising her eyes. She swirled her finger along the tablecloth. "That's me. Always a trooper."

"So what was it, love? Law school or medical school?"

Harry looked up. Curiosity eclipsed her hostility and the effect softened her entire face. "What?"

"You're a people pleaser at your core, because let's face it, no truly bitter person isn't. And you're decently intelligent. Look at those wrinkles around your eyes, you've worked hard in life and it's not just the booze. No, no… all that resolve you're showing? Once the booze got truly out of hand, you overcame it. Judging by the watch, you're very well-off, judging by the way you sighed when you checked that watch earlier, you're dissatisfied with your career and going by the wardrobe, you're not terribly creative. No, you've walked a very sure, straight path towards success and approval without much consideration for your own happiness. So which is it? Are you a doctor or a barrister?"

Harry's eyes hardened, which Irene found adorable.

"Why don't you tell me? Lover boy Sherlock obviously told you."

Irene laughed, dropping her eyes as she did. The candlelight flickered along her cheekbones as she pulled out her phone. She showed Harry the text Sherlock had sent. It was possibly the most terse, uninformative blind date invitation in recorded history.

_You're alive and single again and John has a gay sister. 7 this Saturday at Angelo's. I'd consider it a personal favor. SH_


End file.
